Light Goes Down
by auberus11
Summary: Preseries. A historical adventure set in 1930's Berlin, starring Spike and Drusilla.
1. Twilight Falling

**Chapter One: Twilight Falling  
**

_Berlin, Germany – 15 October 1930:_

The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and the club's dim lighting filled the room with shadows. Most of the tables were filled, and the stage was occupied by a slender blonde girl in green sequins, crooning a love-song into a microphone. The spotlight threw sparks from her dress, and the piano accompanied her from the near darkness beyond the circle of light. Her voice was sultry and compelling, and wound though the babble of conversation like smoke through the air, rising occasionally above the hum of noise. Drunken laughter crescendoed occasionally, and both men and women floated between tables, greeting and flirting and eying one another, drinks firmly in hand. There was a somehow frantic underlay to the scene; men spoke a little too quickly, women laughed a little too loudly, and the dim lighting served to conceal the worn state of most of the evening wear on display, as well as softening the hints of age beginning to carve themselves into young faces.

Spike was sitting at a back table, one arm slung casually around Drusilla's shoulders, a cigarette burning in his free hand. They'd only been in Berlin a week, but he was definitely enjoying himself. He'd found them a house on Friedrichstrasse, right in the belly of the glittering, desperate beast of the city, and he and Dru had spent the past seven nights roaming clubs and cabarets and bath-houses, feasting on the youth of the crumbling Weimar Republic. They'd taken meals from wet streets and smoke-filled rooms with obscene ease: society girls, cabaret dancers, too-thin hustlers, and over-educated, well-dressed young men that reminded Drusilla of the man Spike had once been. The taste of them made Spike think of cherries gone bruised and over-ripe, sweet and bitter and rotten all at once, and he'd spent the week buried to the fangs in a whirlwind of blood and gaiety and despair, loving every minute of it.

At the moment, however, he was getting bored and irritable – and that, he decided moodily, taking a drag off of his cigarette, was Schroeder's fault. The other vampire had accosted them on their way to the table, then had the nerve to sit down unasked and yammer on at Spike like they'd been mates for years. Spike would gladly have staked him moments after making his acquaintance, and had refrained only because he didn't want to get thrown out of the club. Drusilla had said something about meeting someone there, and he generally went along with her visions. Still, if Schroeder kept yapping, he was liable to end up dead.

"My Master is very interested in meeting you," Schroeder was saying. "The chaos in the city presents an unparalleled opportunity-"

"For you to bore us to death?" Spike turned unimpressed eyes on the other vampire. "We've no interest in local politics." He put as scornful a spin as he could on the last two words. Schroeder opened his mouth to protest, and Spike cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"I'm going to say this once, mate, and once only. Go away. Bugger off. Run home to your Master. Dru and I don't make nice with anyone but each other. And don't come back to pester us, either. If I ever see you again, I'll rip your liver out and make you eat it."

Spike's German was ungrammatical but functional, and he got his point across. Schroeder sputtered indignantly, but got up quickly and walked away. Spike watched his retreat with narrowed eyes, then turned back to Drusilla.

"Was that our surprise visitor, pet? 'Cause I have to tell you, I didn't fancy him much."

"He wasn't nice at all," Drusilla agreed. "_Our_ visitor shall bring us sweetmeats, and a lovely dance with a man who is not a car at all."

"Spike, you never learn," said a woman's voice. Spike recognized the steel-and-velvet tones at once. He looked up, startled.

"_Darla_?" he asked. Beside him, Dru laughed softly, delighted.

"Grandmama's come back to us!"

Darla continued her lecture as if they hadn't spoken. "There are benefits to playing nicely with the locals." She came up to the table and looked at him, clearly waiting for the courtesies.

"Have a seat," he said, inclining his head. He wasn't about to get to his feet for the bitch. She'd left him and Dru to their own devices the night after he'd killed his Slayer, and he hadn't so much as heard a whisper from or about her since. Darla rolled her eyes at his rudeness, but she sat down anyway.

"This is a surprise," he said. "We haven't seen you in what – thirty years?"

"Almost," Darla agreed, waving one languid hand at a passing waiter. She looked good, there was no denying that. Unlike Dru, she was dressed in the height of current fashion, and her blonde hair had been bobbed short, cut by an expert hand. Spike wondered idly if she still kept human maidservants. "Vodka, double," she said, and the waiter hurried off.

Spike pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket and opened it before offering it to her. She took one, and he offered it to Dru, who ignored him. She was humming happily to herself, staring into her drink and swaying slightly. Spike shrugged and lit Darla's cigarette before taking one for himself.

"You're looking fancy," Darla said. "Less like a dock hand than you did in China."

Spike looked down at his suit. It was one of five he'd had made in an exclusive Saville Row shop. The tailor had been particularly inspired, as he'd been promised his life in exchange for good work. He hadn't gotten it, of course, but the hope of it had, in Spike's opinion, made him do a better job.

"I'm playing the gentleman now, aren't I?" he asked.

"Not with that accent," she said nastily. "Or that scar through your eyebrow. Where did that come from?"

"That's the Slayer's work," he said. "You were there that night, remember? Or were you too busy spreading your legs for the prodigal Angelus?"

"Watch your tongue, boy," she said evenly. "I can still rip it right out of your head."

He sneered at her. "And a minute ago you were telling me off for threatening the locals. Thought you wanted to play nice."

"That doesn't mean that I'll tolerate your insolence."

"Tolerate it or shove off," Spike said. "I'll not be bear-led by you again."

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Drusilla may have chosen better than any of us realized when she turned you."

"Yeah?" he said lazily. He liked hearing his own praises sung, particularly by Darla, who'd always been a cold-blooded bitch, but that didn't mean he was fool enough to believe she meant it. "What do you _want_?" he asked bluntly.

She blew a stream of cigarette smoke out of her nostrils like a small blonde dragon. "Someday, William, someone will teach you patience. I hope I'm there to see it."

"Get to the point, Darla," Spike told her.

"Fine," she said, her eyes narrowing in irritation. "Have you ever heard of Charles de Renault?"

"French vamp, right? Hangs about with Dracula's crowd?" He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and lit another. "I've run into him before. We didn't get along."

"I'd have been surprised if you had," Darla said dryly. "Charles has manners."

"He's a stuck-up, irritating tosser," Spike translated. "All of Dracula's mates are."

"Where did you meet – never mind." Darla rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you were as much of a disgrace to your lineage and rearing as you always are in anything resembling polite company."

"What can I say?" Spike shrugged. "All of that 'children of the night' bollocks makes my fangs itch."

"Such language," Darla murmured. Spike smirked at her, but as the waiter chose that moment to return with her drink, she chose to ignore the expression with the icy dignity she'd always been so good at. Once the waiter was gone, she continued: "Charles has something of mine, and I want it back."

"It's Charles, is it?" Spike chuckled. "Just how friendly did you get with this French wanker, then?" The shift in her expression was minute. It was also the only warning he got before her hand shot out and caught him by the collar.

"Don't make me warn you again, Spike," she said.

"Urk," he answered. She apparently took that for consent, because she let go of him.

He glared balefully at her as he straightened the mangled lines of his collar. "What's he got of yours, then? And why don't you just go take it from him?"

"Starlight," said Drusilla; "starlight caught in stone. He's run off with your pretty gift, hasn't he, Grandmama?"

"Make her stop calling me that," Darla said automatically. Spike had lost count of the number of times he'd heard her order Angelus to break Dru of that particular habit.

"You do it," he said, "if you think you can. What's this bugger run off with, then?"

"My diamonds," Darla said. "I'd get them myself, but he has security, and they'd recognize me."

"Which is where I come in?" Spike asked. "I don't bloody think so. Why don't you find a nice society lady, kill her, and take her jewels?"

"It's the necklace Luke gave me," she snarled. "It's got protection spells on it, and I want it _back_."

"Luke?" Spike arched his scarred eyebrow. "Not that Cro-Magnon stuffed shirt! Trying to get back into old Bat Face's good graces, are we?"

"I'm not sure why you care, Spike. You've never taken any interest in politics."

"Oh, I don't. Care, that is. Just find it amusing, 's all."

"He's taking a trip," Drusilla said. "Poof! Like a cork into a bottle."

Darla rolled her eyes. "This is just wonderful. The two most powerful descendants of my direct line are a thug and a madwoman. You probably wouldn't be able to help if you wanted to."

"Nice try," Spike told her. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and he was bracing for her to come after him again when Drusilla spoke.

"Don't fuss, Grandmama. Spike is cranky because the worms are nattering at him again, but he is my Knight of Wands and will be chivalrous and true."

"Bugger," Spike muttered, settling back into his seat. "I guess that settles it, then." 

* * *

_  
Author's Notes_ _Thanks to **debris4spike** for beta help. Any remaining mistakes are my own. _

_Feedback? Is love. _


	2. Shadow Dancing

**Chapter Two: Shadow Dancing**

_"Say, it's only a paper moon,  
Sailing over a cardboard sea,  
But it wouldn't be make believe,  
If you believed in me."_  
_ - Harold Arlen, Paper Moon _

Darla was a bitch from hell, but she knew how to make up for it. Spike spent the rest of the night wandering in and out of the bars and cabarets with the girls on either arm, smirking at the envious stares he got from men and women alike. They mingled with the crowd coming out of the Winter Garden and Darla pulled briefly away from his side to separate a broad-shouldered young man in immaculate evening-wear from his companions. Spike looked on in amusement as the two fortunate lads who hadn't attracted Darla's eye cursed their luck, watching their doomed friend with envious eyes.

"Turning and turning," Drusilla said in his ear. "None of the falcons shall ever come home again, you know."

"If you say it, pet, I believe it," he told her, and stopped under a street-lamp to kiss her, one hand in her hair, pressing her back against the pillar until Darla came up from behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"That didn't take long," Spike commented, pulling away from Drusilla with reluctance.

"He wasn't anything special," Darla shrugged.

"He didn't taste like Daddy," Dru confided, sounding a little distressed. Darla glared daggers at her. Spike hid his smirk and offered both of them an arm, putting himself between them once again.

"Don't trouble your head over it, pet," he told Dru. "Come on. We'll go and find you someone to eat."

* * *

Darla left them in an alley off of the Unter der Linden an hour before dawn, after making it clear that she expected to see Spike at her hotel the next evening. 

"What about Dru?" he asked.

"Bring her, if you think she'll be useful," Darla shrugged, and slipped into the shadows.

"If you think she'll be useful?" Spike echoed. "Bitch!" He kicked viciously at a loose bit of paving-stone and sent it flying into the side of a parked car. The resultant damage to the car's paint made him feel a little better, but he was still in a foul mood.

"Plots and intricacies," Drusilla told him. "Don't trouble your head over it, my Spike. It all comes down to dust in the end."

"Does it, love?" he asked.

"Oh, yes." Her eyes were wide and luminous, her mouth curved into a smile. "Down to ashes," she whispered, "and the violins in the charnel house shall play and play and play." She took a few dancing steps, humming the opening bars of _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. _

Spike followed her and took her hands in his before twirling her and dipping her low over his arm. She laughed in delight, then screamed in mock-terror as he pretended to drop her. He scooped her up into his arms and spun them both around while she pounded her fists on his back, shrieking with laughter.

"Bad dog," she scolded, giggling. "_Nein_! Put me down!"

"You heard the _fraulein_," a man said behind them, in German. "Put her down, _saukerl._"

Spike understood more of the language than he spoke, and even if he hadn't, the tone of the man's voice was clear enough to get his meaning across. Drusilla's laughter stopped abruptly. Spike turned around slowly. When he saw the three brown-shirted men standing between him and the street, his eyes narrowed.

"I," he said, not bothering to speak German, "am getting bloody tired of having my evening interrupted."

"Put the girl down," the smallest of the three insisted again. "Now, _schweinhund!_"

"I'd be glad to," Spike told him. To Dru he said: "Will you excuse me for a moment, love?"

"Of course, my prince," she answered, and pressed her hand briefly over his heart as he let her go. Spike gave her a long, leisurely kiss, then turned to face his foes. His expression sent all three of them half a step backwards; then they overruled their instincts and came at him.

The littlest one hung back a bit, obviously waiting for his companions to do any fighting required. The two larger ones rushed directly at Spike, who danced backwards a few steps before lashing out with his fists, pulling his blows more than a little. He struck the closest of the pair directly on the chin; the man staggered backwards but did not fall. The second man got punched square in the nose, and Spike grinned as he felt bones and cartilage crunch beneath his knuckles.

When he realized that his compatriots had both been struck, the littlest one rushed in, pulling a baton from his belt as he did so. He swung it hard at Spike's head, and the vampire caught the blow as it fell, then twisted the baton easily out of his grasp. Flipping it mid-air, Spike took it by the grip and swung it up and back, directly into the face of his first assailant, who had shaken off the first blow and was coming back for more. The baton hit him directly in the jaw, breaking it nearly in half, and the pain of the injury dropped him to the ground. Spike stepped backwards, crushing the man's throat beneath his boot-heel, then turned back to the little one, who was shrieking curses and threats at him.

"Oh, shut _up_," Spike said. The man ignored him, so Spike reached over and tore his larynx out with a quick twist of one hand, then tossed it aside. The dying man grabbed instinctively for his ruined throat, but it did no good; blood fountained from between his fingers, staining his shirt-front and spattering onto Spike's boots.

The last surviving member of the goon squad looked at the scene in front of him in growing horror. Spike smiled gently at him and he turned to run, but his boots slipped in the growing puddle of blood on the cobblestones and he staggered and fell.

Spike was on him in an instant, catching him by the collar before his hands could touch the ground and jerking him hard to his feet. The man was taller than Spike, but vampiric strength more than made up for the difference in height. Spike pulled the man's head down level with his own and twisted the man's shirt hard around his neck, choking him.

"Are you still hungry, Dru?" he asked, and glanced out of the corner of his eye to watch as the fear on the man's face reached new levels.

"No," Drusilla said, coming a few steps closer. "This one's all yours, sweet William. Eat him up quickly, now; none of that sort will be fresh for long."

"Don't mind if I do, then," Spike told her, and slipped into his fangs. The man in his grip convulsed in terror and tried to scream. Half-strangled as he was, the only thing that came out was a sort of choking squeak.

"He sounds just like a little mouse," Drusilla observed. "Too late, little mousie. The cheese was a cat; too late, too late!"

"Too right," Spike said, and grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, pulling his head back to expose the long line of his throat.

"How perfectly _lovely_," Drusilla said. Spike bit down.

* * *

They made it back to the house with just minutes to spare. It was going to be a clear day, and the ambient light was prickling warning over Spike's skin as they pelted up the front steps.. He slammed the door shut against the coming sun, then whirled and pressed Dru against it, bringing his mouth down on hers. They kissed for a long, frantic moment, his hands blindly seeking the buttons of her dress, her hands threading through his hair, cupping his face, pulling him closer still. 

"My beautiful Spike," she said, when they broke apart. "You're my dark knight, sweet William."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be, love, as long as I can be yours," he promised her, and kissed his way from the corner of her mouth to the curve of her neck.

"Of course you're my knight," she answered. "You'll never be anyone else's."

"Good," he said, and turned his full attention to the matter at hand.

* * *

_  
Author's Notes__: Much gratitude to **debris4spike** for beta-help and encouragement._ _Any remaining mistakes are my own. _

_The quote at the beginning is from a jazz piece that was published in 1933 and made popular in 1938 by the great Ella Fitzgerald. (I'm listening to period music while I work on this story, and am enjoying it a great deal.)_

_As always, I welcome feedback of any sort. In particular, if anyone notices any historical inaccuracies, please let me know!_


	3. The Grey Light at Dusk

**Chapter Three: The Grey Light at Dusk**

"_Have you seen the well-to-do  
Up on Lenox Avenue?  
On that famous thoroughfare  
With their noses in the air?  
High hats and coloured collars,  
White spats and fifteen dollars,  
Spending every dime  
For a wonderful time!"  
-Irving Berlin, Puttin' On the Ritz_

It was a little after three in the afternoon when Spike woke up. He was tangled in sheets and blankets and Drusilla; in cotton and eiderdown and silk-smooth skin, and he lay still and content for nearly an hour before restlessness overcame him. He got out of bed, being careful not to wake Dru, and pulled on a pair of trousers before leaving the room.

The house was enormous, practically a mansion, with high ceilings and marble floors. The architecture was graceful, and the now-dead servants had kept the place in good order. The windows were nearly six feet tall and four feet wide, with windowsills large enough to serve as benches. Fortunately, they'd come equipped with velvet curtains that were thick enough to block even the most stubborn of sunbeams. The curtains were a deep green colour and, when drawn, gave the house a gloomy, cavernous effect even at high noon. Drusilla adored them.

Spike was pleased with their latest home. It was several cuts above the typical vampire lair, and infinitely preferable to Darla's habit of staying in expensive hotels, where there were maids to complain about bloodstains and other guests to complain about the screaming. Spike smiled in satisfaction, then turned and headed to the library.

The old couple who'd lived in the house (before he and Dru had entered the picture courtesy of an overly-trusting butler) had been dedicated bibliophiles. They'd collected everything from leather-bound classics to first editions to penny-dreadfuls; the shelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and every one was full.

Spike picked up the copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover he'd found tucked away on one of the upper shelves the day before. Unlike most of the books in the library, this one was in French rather than German, which was fortunate. Spike's spoken German was adequate, but he was not up for the task of reading a novel written in the language. He found the folded corner that marked the page he'd stopped on yesterday and settled into one of the room's two leather armchairs.

Half an hour later, Drusilla came dancing into the room. Spike put the book aside and watched her, enjoying the way she moved and the dreamy look in her dark eyes, until she stopped and looked over at him.

"I shall be on my own this evening," she announced, "all alone among the rotting pretties."

"You're not coming?" Spike frowned. "Why not?"

"The naughty man who took Grandmama's necklace sees things he shouldn't," she said. "He sees too much, he does; all of the screams in the darkness, and the dead hands scrabbling, scrabbling upwards, seeking life from the pit. I'll not take tea with him, no; nor shall Miss Edith."

"Then maybe I won't go either," Spike said, leaning back in his chair.

"You have to go," Dru scolded him. "Otherwise Grandmama shall be very cross, like a cat with nine tails stretched for strings."

"Wouldn't want that, would we," Spike muttered – but he said it to himself, and Dru pretended she hadn't heard him.

* * *

I had warned Spike to be prompt, so he was of course half an hour late. I'd expected as much, so I had only been waiting in the drawing-room for five minutes. He paused in the doorway as though looking for me, though he'd already given himself away with a quick glance as he rounded the door-jamb.

I will admit that he deserved the admiring glances that were thrown his way. His perfectly-tailored suit set off the lean, muscular lines of his body to admiration, and his razor-sharp good looks were emphasized by his slicked-back hair. The scar on his eyebrow gave his face character; warned that there were dangerous depths beneath his pretty facade, and the mock-delight that swept over his handsome features when he pretended to notice me for the first time would have fooled anyone who hadn't spent twenty years living side by side with him. Drusilla, in all her madness, had chosen her consort well.

He threaded his way gracefully through the crowd to my side and stopped, looking down at me. I refrained from mentioning his rudeness. Angelus had spent twenty years trying to beat the manners of William's mortal life back into Spike. Like so many of Angelus' gestures, it had been futile. A fledgling master vampire cannot be molded like a piece of pottery. They must be subtly guided, for all Angelus' claims of shaping Drusilla into the design he'd chosen. Rather than shaping her, he shattered her, and re-arranged the pieces into a shape that pleased him. It was a beautiful, brutal action, but it was hardly subtle.

"I've been waiting for you for half an hour," I lied, pretending displeasure. Spike smirked, believing that he'd started our encounter by getting one over on me, and dropped heavily into the chair next to me. I repressed a smile.

"So, what's the plan?" Spike asked. "Are we going to beat this French ponce within an inch of his unlife, then take back your necklace?" Compared to Spike, Angelus was a master of subtlety. 

"No," I told him, letting my annoyance show in my voice. "De Renault is one of Dracula's favourites. Attacking him directly will lead to a war between the Order of Aurelius and Host Drakul; even you should know that."

"You know I'm not interested in politics," he said.

"That's not politics; that's history," I told him. "The Order and Host Drakul have fought six wars since the Host was founded. Any offense is likely to touch off another one."

"Blah, blah, blah," Spike said. "Angelus used to yap about that sort of thing. I never listened to him, either. Just tell me what we need to do and we'll do it, yeah? None of the educational side conversation."

"Fine," I said, narrowing my eyes. "The plan is this..."

* * *

_Author's Notes: As always, my thanks to **debris4spike** for beta help. All remaining mistakes are my own. _

_Feedback? Is love. Tell me what you think!_


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